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User blog:ThisIsXenon/ggad fic // parts three through six
Content Warning: Rated PG-13 for language, dark/mature themes and violence. Updates irregularly! Chapter 31 When the panic finally died down, Micah collapsed onto his bed. His head hurt, his ears were ringing, his throat was raw, and he held his arms—''it’s okay, it’s okay now, you fixed it, you fixed your mistake, it’s going to be okay''—tight to his chest. He kicked off his boots and wriggled under the chilly sheets, still shaking, teeth chattering—gods why was it so cold? He nearly started to cry because of that but managed to shove it back down. You are stronger than this. You are stronger than this. You are stronger than this. You are stronger than this. You are stronger than this. You are stronger than this. You are stronger than this. '' That’s how he fell asleep, rolling his new mantra around in his head. He hadn’t counted on the nightmares, though. ---- It was still dark when he clawed his way out of it, and he was still screaming. He shook—or someone was shaking him— he’d shattered into a million jagged pieces, scattered across the room—wait those were hands on his shoulders—''trapped I’m trapped I’m trapped again—he lashed out with his feet but they didn’t connect—his hands fumbled at the belt he wasn’t wearing—''I’m trapped and I don’t even have a weapon''—and then he was falling and bam he was flat on his back on the floor and everything was spinning. “Micah—“ He could feel footsteps getting closer—''get back get back get back''—and he sat up and scrambled away until he thumped against the wall and sweat stung in his eyes and on his back. His shirt chafed against his scars, and that took him back quickly, back to before, back with her screaming in his ear. Coward coward coward you’re a coward— “—t gonna hurt you—“ —You’re a coward and a failure and a traitor and a liar and you are ''nothing. '' He couldn’t breathe anymore, but there was still a keening sound coming from his mouth. He was far too sweaty to be cold, but the chills came over and over, and gods he felt sick. His chest felt tight, his heart beat so hard and fast that it hurt. And his head….the knot where he’d hit the railing pulsed, that entire side of his face aching. “—awake now—“ Blurry. His eyes wouldn’t focus, and the incredible raw panic wouldn’t go away, no matter how much he tried to shove it back into its box. Get a hold of yourself. You need to get over it. It’s the past. The past shouldn’t affect you this much. '' And suddenly it was her voice in her head saying it. ''The past shouldn’t affect you so much. Move on. '' ''You’re a coward. Do you hear me? A coward! A good for nothing coward and you can’t do anything right! '' ''Get off the floor, ja— “—karta, snap out of it!” This voice was garbled and harsh and desperate and all his muscles locked up at once and he screamed back— “Shut UP!” —slammed his head against the wall, and the exponential uptick of pain was sweet because he knew he wouldn’t be conscious for much longer— Pass out just pass out then it’ll be over. '' “Stop hurting—“ Hands closed around his arms and pulled him away from the wall. “Micah, you’re gonna give yourself a concussion.” He was really sick now, dizzy and shaky and burning and freezing so he shoved the hands away again. He could see a little bit, the doorway to his bathroom—''there, I need to get there—and he tried to stand— “Whoa, hang on.“ —but that wasn’t happening either, and he fell to his knees and emptied his stomach on himself and the floor. “Oh, love….” He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, but he was covered in it, head to knees and in his hair—''Disgusting disgusting you disgusting excuse for a human. '' “Micah, focus on me.” A hand was offered, not forced, and it kept disappearing and reappearing in the dark. “Focus on me.” The voice was starting to sound more familiar. “You’re awake and you’re safe here.” It was dark, but then it occurred to him that his eyes were closed, so he opened them. The hand was still there, so he wiped his own hand on one of the sparse bits of clean clothing he had on and held it. “There you go,” The voice was gentle. “I’m sorry I yelled before. I didn’t mean to scare you.” “Nngh—“ “Don’t try to talk yet. That was pretty intense,” So gentle. Sudden exhaustion slammed him like a wave, and he wanted to melt into the voice’s arms and never leave. “Just breathe. Focus on your breathing.” Inhale. Exhale. ''It came as a sob. “Shhh, it’s okay, love, it’s okay. Let’s get you cleaned up. That’ll make you feel better,” The hand slipped away. “I’ll carry you.” He was too out of it to resist, and the voice—''Damian. It’s Damian. He’s real—carried him bridal-style to the bathroom. He closed his eyes. “You’re burning up.” Water running, then a cool cloth carefully wiping his face. Gods, it felt good. “How many shirts are you wearing?” He held up three shaking fingers. “That’s why you’re so damned hot. I’m gonna help you change, okay? Is that okay?” He nodded. “For now, drink this,” Bottle against his lips, tipping something minty and burning into his mouth. He swallowed. “There you go. Now water,” A hand guided his to a glass. “You’re dehydrated. It’ll make you feel better. I’ll find you some clean clothes.” “Okay….” Retreating footsteps. He tried to pick up the glass, but his hands were still shaky and it clattered to the ground, soaking his feet. Shit shit shit, you can’t do anything, can you? ''He started apologising to the air, covering his face. “Hey, hey now, it’s okay,” Damian was back. Micah peeked through his fingers. The light was on. Damian set the bundle of clothes by the sink and mopped up the water with a towel. “Uncover your face for me.” Micah dropped his hands to his lap. “S-sorry—“ “It’s okay, love, you don’t have to apologise. We’ll try again,” He picked up the glass and refilled it in the sink. “I’ve got a straw.” He guided the straw to Micah’s lips, and Micah closed his eyes and drank until the glass was empty. “There you go,” A soft hand caressed his face. “Now let’s get you into clean clothes.” Micah let Damian guide his limbs, too overwhelmed to do anything more than follow simple instructions. Damian murmured to him, little sweet things in his ear, but then he stopped without warning— “Oh.” —and Micah realised his scars were in full view. “She carved her name into you.” Damian traced the symbol, and Micah‘s chest constricted and he shrunk back. ''Shit. ''He crossed his arms over his chest. ''You’ve done it. You’ve really gone and fucked it up this time. ''Gods, she was in his head again, saying what she always would whenever she had the chance. ''That’s gross, Micah. That’s really gross. You're gross. You’re disgusting. I don’t see how everyone else puts up with you. I mean, you did it to yourself, so I don’t know why you care so much. You fucked it up for yourself. Your fault, your consequences. It’s just a natural progression of events. If you hadn’t lost him, if you hadn’t disobeyed me and broken all the rules, maybe things would be different. No one has ever messed up like this before, were you trying to do badly? To get pity? To get attention? That’s so selfish, Micah, that’s terrible. You don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve anyone, any friends or family. You can’t feel anything real. It’s all fake, all for attention, isn’t it? You’re hooked on the feeling of being important and loved and cared about because it gives you power. That’s sick. That’s selfish. You’re so fake. '' ''Suck it up, you son of a bitch. “I’m—“ He nearly choked on his words. “—m’sorry, sorry m’so gross and d-disgusting and such a c-coward over nothing—“ “You’re not disgusting, love,” Damian cut him off. “Not to me. I’m not mad about the scars. I’m not disgusted. They’re awful, yes, but only because something awful must’ve happened to make them. And it’s okay to be scared of that.” “You’re just s-saying that— “Listen to me, Micah,” Damian grabbed both his hands before he could cover his face. Micah’s breath stopped in his chest. “I don’t care about the scars. I’ve got them too. Everyone does. I’m not leaving you because of yours. I don’t ever want to leave you again,” He brushed tears off of Micah’s face that Micah didn’t know had fallen. “Right now, you need to know you’re safe here. You’re safe to do whatever you want: sleep, cry, scream, break things, get so drunk you forget your name, whatever. I’ll keep you safe while you do.” He chose to cry, crawling into Damian’s arms and shoving his face into his shoulder. Some last restraint finally broke and it all came out, years of bottled-up anger and pain and fear, more than he thought he was capable of keeping in. Damian rocked him back and forth, gently reminding him to breathe when he got too overwhelmed. He cried until his throat was raw and his eyes stung and his stomach ached from sobbing, his face hot and a mess of tears and snot. “Any better, love?” Damian wiped his face with the cool cloth again. “A l-little,” His speech was still jumpy. “So, you’re not m-m-mad at me? For n-not telling you about the s-scars?” “Gods no,” Damian shook his head. “I could never be mad at you for that. If they’re too painful to talk about, then you don’t need to. Besides, I’m less worried about the ones here—“ He pointed to Micah’s chest— “and more so about the ones here,” He pointed to the slices on Micah’s forearms. Micah felt his face burn. “Those are old.” “This one’s still open.” Damian pointed more. “And it’s deep.” Micah pressed his arms to his chest. “I’m working on it.” “You don’t have to do this alone,” Damian said. “I’m here for a reason. I’m here to help you with this.” “But I—“ How could he explain it? That he didn’t feel like he deserved it? That he didn’t want to drag anyone else into it? That he was scared of confronting his past head-on? Because all of those things were true, but there was something else, something else stopping him that felt bigger than all those other issues. “N-never mind.” “Is that a yes?” “What?” “That you’ll let me in on what’s going on now? So I can help?” “I….” He didn’t really want to—''coward coward coward''—but Damian deserved to know, after all this. “Yeah. It’s always freshest after a nightmare, so….” “Let’s clean you up first. And then clothes. You’re shivering.” “Right,” He’d forgotten. That was a first. “Right,” He tried to stand up, but his knees rebelled and he fell back into Damian’s lap. “Help.” Damian washed Micah’s hair in the sink, helped him sponge clean, and guided him into clothes that were definitely too big, cocooning him in a fabric shield that smelled like Damian. Micah buried his face in the folds of the hoodie when Damian cleaned and bandaged his arms. The floor where he’d thrown up earlier was clean, and the sheets were different. Damian propped him up on a pile of pillows. “How long have I been awake?” “About an hour,” Damian replied, sliding into bed next to him. “Well, it’s been an hour since I got in here. You’ve been fading in and out for about that time.” Micah snuggled closer to Damian. “I guess I’ll start with how I got those scars.” He’d never talked about it before. Ever. Not even with the rest of the Ennead. But they’d already known, probably more than he did, what had happened in that handful of hours. “You don’t have to,” Damian said. “But I do, really, I have to tell someone.” He didn’t know how this would end. But he started anyway. “Here goes.” Chapter 32 Micah and Clay were summoned to Hester’s study that day. She stood facing her window, clasping her hands behind her back. Micah knocked on the doorframe. “Yes, I know you two are here, please come in, sit down, there is much to discuss about your next assignment.” Hester didn't turn around. They did, choosing the two chairs in front of her desk. She turned from the window and climbed, catlike, into her desk chair, folding her legs over the armrest. She examined her bloodred nails, holding them up to the light streaming in from the window. Micah noted that they were sharpened into points and tipped with something metal. Clay cleared his throat, and she snapped out of her daze. “I need you two to investigate something across the river. Those rebels are becoming a problem, and I need inside intel.” “Those rebels?” Clay echoed. “You mean the people who left the KGA—” “Clay, darling, don't speak out of turn,” Hester interrupted, closing her eyes. Clay clamped his mouth shut and looked at his feet. “You'll cross at midnight, and your second contact will inform you of the rest. It's too dangerous to tell you everything, but we are crushing those deserters once and for all.” “What gear?” Micah asked. “Anything that's easy to swim in,” Hester steepled her fingers. “There's no other way across that's stealthy enough.” “And swimming is stealthy?” Clay challenged. “I chose you and Micah because you are my most skilled proteges,” Hester said icily. “If you don't think you're up to the task, then I can send someone else and give you a...different assignment.” Clay gritted his teeth. “With all due respect, wouldn't it be better to—” “Mister Tambien, my terms are non negotiable and that is final,” Hester stood and slammed her hands on the desk. Clay flinched, but didn't look away. “This has always been the case, so if you continue this nonsense, I will treat this as insubordination and not a lack of knowledge. And you know how I deal with insubordination. Am I clear?” “Crystal,” Clay muttered. Hester’s eyes flashed, but she settled herself back into the chair and closed her eyes for a long moment. Micah shifted in his chair, and Hester opened one long-lashed eye. “Go. I’m tired of you and don't want to see you until ten sharp. Meet me back here then.” Clay stood up abruptly and stormed out. Micah followed him, but Hester called his name right before he crossed the threshold. “Micah, dearest, a moment.” Micah glanced over his shoulder. “Keep your friend under control. He is your responsibility. You know what happens when you shirk responsibility. Protect the team.” “I will.” “Good. Leave,” She spun her chair around to face the window. Micah left. ---- Clay was halfway to the training room when Micah caught up with him. “How do you stand her?” Clay crossed his arms, his ears bright red. He shoved his chin into his scarf. Micah could almost feel the waves of anger pouring off of him. “She has ears everywhere,” Micah warned. “You let her scare you into submission?” Clay yelled, stopping in place and jabbing a finger at Micah. “She’s almost half a foot shorter than you!” “Her height doesn’t mean anything,” Micah replied stiffly. “And you seem to be forgetting a few things about her that should make you obey her.” “I will not bend to her will!” Clay shouted, stomping his foot. Micah grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. Clay yelled again. “You will be quiet,” Micah hissed. “You are bound to her for four more years, and she can do anything she wants to you until then. You are her slave until then, and you will follow her orders.” “Who are you to tell me this?” Clay snapped. “You don't control me either!” “I am your superior and the team leader—” “There can’t be a leader if there are only two of us!” “I’m trying to keep you alive,” Micah twisted his arm more. “And you acting like an immature teenager is not helping me, so shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you.” “Fine,” Clay replied dully. “Let go of me.” Micah did, and Clay rotated his shoulder with a wince. He wouldn't meet Micah’s eyes, making Micah feel guilty. “You okay?” “Ow.” “Sorry. You weren't listening and I had to get my point across.” “I trust you,” Clay said, his voice weak. “But it feels like she’s setting us up for something. I mean, putting me on a swimming mission….Micah, I'm terrified.” “She wouldn’t put us on a mission she didn’t think we could do,” Micah put his hands on Clay’s shoulders. “She’s just testing us. You'll do fine,” Clay was shaking. “I won’t let you get hurt. Trust me.” Clay nodded, closing his eyes and letting tears spill over. Micah hugged him. Micah wasn't tall, but the top of Clay’s head only came up to his shoulder. He was so small, so innocent even though he had the blood of many on his arrows. And Hester was crushing him. “I won't let you die,” Micah repeated. “I promise.” He rested his chin on Clay’s head. He doesn't deserve this life. None of us do. Just a few more years. Then we'll be free. ---- At ten sharp, Micah met Hester at the door to her study. She was wearing all black, and her nails were coated in fresh coat of shiny red lacquer, still tipped with metal. Micah wore lightweight gear — though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, he felt the same way as Clay about swimming. The river was going to be freezing, and he’d swum it enough times to know that the currents were intense this time of year. “Where is he?” Hester locked her door and pulled her hood farther over her face. “He was changing his bowstring. He’ll be here.” “He’s late. I said ten sharp.” “Cut him a little slack. He’s nervous.” “He shouldn’t be. This is routine.” “You call swimming across a river at midnight routine?” “Don’t you start this too.” Clay rounded the corner, scarf tangled in the bow over his shoulder. He slid to a halt beside Micah. His eyes and nose were red. “Sorry I’m late, I couldn’t find my—” “No excuses,” Hester cut him off. “You almost compromised the mission.” “But—” “We’re staking the area out until midnight. If we’re late, we miss a free window to slip in.” “Sorry….” “And why are you still wearing that ridiculous scarf?” “Good luck charm,” Clay’s ears turned red as he tried to untangle it. “You don’t need luck. Rely on skill alone,” Hester snapped. She sighed and rubbed her temples. “Why can’t you be more like Micah?" Clay’s face tightened, and Micah winced. Whenever Clay did something out of turn—or something Hester didn’t want him to do—she brought up the “why can’t you be more like Micah” tirade. “Look at him, Clay, darling,” Hester gestured to Micah. “All black. Lightweight gear. Invisible in the night. You, however…..you may as well be waving flags for our enemies.” “I’ll take it off,” Clay mumbled. “Too late for that now, we’ve wasted enough time as is,” Hester clapped her hands. “Come along, you two.” She stalked off towards the exit. Clay trailed after her, eyes on the floor. Micah walked beside him. They headed northwest from the Keep, through a clearing of shoulder-high grass, for almost an hour before reaching the river. Hester drew her dagger and cut a small swathe down to give them a clear area. Clay rubbed his hands together, covering his mouth with his scarf to hide his steaming breath. Micah did the same with a bandanna. “No fires,” Hester said. “I know it’s….abhorrently cold, but we cannot be seen or heard. I'm going to double back and make sure we haven't been followed. Stay sharp.” She slipped back the way they had come. Clay fell to his knees with a whimper. Micah knelt beside him. “Do not panic,” Micah ordered. “Too late for that,” Clay hugged his chest. “Way too late for that.” “If you can’t keep going once we’re in the water, hang on to me until you can,” Micah sat down. “I can keep both of us above water and in motion for a little bit. And if you do go under, I’m going after you. But I’m not letting that happen. We’re going to get across just fine.” “You’re shivering,” Clay noted. “Yeah, I noticed. I’ve got light clothing and gear. Not good for cold weather, but good for swimming. sacrifices had to be made, and comfort was one of them.” “But you could’ve brought something and then stripped before we got in the water,” Clay countered. “However, I failed to execute that idea as well. Here, let’s just…” He set down his bow, tugged off his cardigan and wrapped it around both of them like a blanket. “Huddle up.” He scooted closer and nestled his head against Micah's chest. Micah could feel his heat through his clothes. “Why are you so warm?” “Panic, probably, though it could be a fever,” Clay shrugged. “I feel super cold. Throat’s a little scratchy too.” “Clay Tambien, if you’re sick—“ “I’ll keep it to myself,” Clay assured him, chuckling. “Though if I am sick, you probably have it already.” “Yeah, since you refuse to sleep in your own room.” “Listen, I get cold, okay?” He tucked his head farther into Micah’s shoulder and closed his eyes. “Wake me up when Hester gets back.” Chapter 33 After Clay fell asleep for half an hour, Hester returned. Her dagger was bloody. “We don’t have to worry about being followed anymore,” she said icily. “Good,” Micah said. He nudged Clay awake. “I’m up, I’m up,” Clay mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. “Ow….this is a killer headache.” “Hopefully a killer headache won’t stop you from being my killing machine, hm?” Hester raised one eyebrow at him. Clay winced, “Right.” “Good. Get that bow ready. We’ve got a patrol across the river to check.” Clay stood up, pulling on his cardigan, picking up his bow, and flashing Micah a nervous grin. Hester parted the grass. Across the river, three people paced along the bank. “Three,” she murmured. “They just changed sets. This means you have two hours to get across and find your second contact.” “Plenty of time,” Micah replied. “Clay, take them out,” Hester ordered. Clay drew three arrows from his quiver and fired them in quick succession. All three patrolmen went down. “Good,” Micah said quietly. Clay lowered his bow, shaking from cold and nerves but smiling a little. “That was good.” “That was not good,” Hester snapped. Clay and Micah flinched. “If those had been formal targets, you would’ve missed the perfect bullseye.” “Sorry,” Clay mumbled. “Can’t see straight.” “What?” Micah said. Clay rubbed his face, “I’m a little nauseous.” “I’d think more than a little if your vision is out of whack,” Micah felt his forehead. “Oh, man, you’re burning up. Hester,” He looked to her. “Hester, he doesn’t need to be on this mission right now. I’ll finish it myself. You need to take him back to the Keep.” “No,” Hester shook her head. “No. You never go into missions alone.” “I can do it. And I’ll have the contact.” “But that’s all she is,” Hester hissed. “A contact. She’ll run at the first sign of danger, because that’s the kind of coward she is.” “Fine. I’ll be okay on my own.” “You’ll be annihilated before you can get to the contact.” “You seem to be forgetting that job I did by myself in Bahari,” Micah crossed his arms. “The one that you said should take three people to complete.” “You seem to be forgetting your place, Mister Jakarta,” Hester snarled. “You are going on this mission tonight, with Clay, and that is final.” Grass rustled. Hester and Micah whirled around. Clay stepped back into view, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Where did you go?” Hester demanded. “Sorry, had to—,“ Clay coughed and pointed over his shoulder. His voice was hoarse. “I didn’t want to interrupt you.” Micah glared at Hester and mouthed See? “We’re wasting time,” Hester ignored him. “Go. Now.” Micah growled in frustration and stormed out of the grass and onto the muddy bank. Clay followed. “On three, we go in,” Micah said. Clay nodded, trembling again. “One….two….three.” They dove. A current carried Clay away almost immediately, but Micah grabbed him before he drifted too far. “Micah, I can’t do this,” Clay was near tears. They were out of the current, feet jammed into the bottom of the river to stay upright. “I can’t do this.” “I know,” Micah said. “I know. Just hang on to me, and you’ll be fine.” “But what if I drag you down?” “You won’t. Trust me. I know the river like the back of my hand. I know where all the good and bad currents are and how to use them. You focus on watching for anyone who shouldn’t be here and not throwing up on me, and I’ll take care of getting us there.” Clay took a deep breath. “Okay.” He climbed on Micah’s back. Micah used the next current and the bottom of the river for leverage and pushed off. The truth was, Micah felt more nervous about swimming for two people than he let on. He was worried about Clay too, who was still warm even in the icy river. He was worried for himself, because if he’d gotten whatever Clay had, symptoms would probably show up in the middle of the job. The last thing he wanted to do was excuse himself to throw up while in the middle of an enemy base. “Big rock up ahead,” Clay said, barely audible over the roaring of the water. “You need a break.” Micah couldn’t spare a breath to answer, but he changed course. They were halfway across when Micah met the rock. He didn’t have enough energy to climb on top of it, even though it was barely above the water. Clay still hung on to him, but he leaned away to vomit once Micah got a good hold. “Gods, Clay,” Micah murmured. “Ugh,” Clay let his head drop on Micah’s shoulder. “I’m sick. You probably have my germs. I’m sorry.” “I’m not worried about me,” Micah shook his head. The water tugged at his legs, and he re-gripped the rock. “Once we get across and find the contact, we’ll find some place for you to lie low until I finish the job.” “Okay,” Clay nodded slowly. “Almost there,” Micah reassured him. “Almost.” He kicked off the rock, and then they went under. The water muffled a lot of noise, but Micah could still hear Clay scream as he lost his grip. Micah spun and powered his way deeper. The water was murky, and all he could see of Clay was his scarf and a flailing hand. He grabbed the hand and swam up. They broke the surface, Clay clinging to Micah as he hacked up water. Micah boosted him up. Clay scrambled up on the rock and fell, curled up on his side. Micah followed. Clay had his eyes closed tightly. “Clay, are you okay?” Micah brushed Clay’s bangs out of his eyes. “It’s fine,” Clay said in a small voice. “I’m fine. Not your fault. Someone grabbed me when you pushed off and pulled us under.” He covered his face. “We c-can’t go back down there. Not n-now.” “Calm down.” “I’m so c-cold,” Clay whimpered. There was a splash down below, and Micah saw someone leap out of the water and try to grab the rock. Clay shrieked and scrambled back. Micah jumped to his feet and threw a knife. It buried itself to the hilt in the person’s throat. They spluttered and fell. Micah yanked on the knife’s cord, and it leapt back into his hand. “Whoa,” Clay murmured. He had an arrow nocked in his bow, but Micah doubted he could shoot straight in the state he was in. “That’s cool.” “I got tired of losing knives,” Micah crouched again and glanced up at the sky. The moon was full. “Let’s hope this would-be kelpie worked alone.” “Yeah same,” Clay said, then coughed up a mouthful of water. “Take a minute and catch your breath,” Micah said. “We’re not in a hurry. I’ll check for more people.” Clay nodded and coughed again. His lips were blue. Micah slid into the river again. The water, murky and dark and blurry, looked empty of people from his view. He let himself sink further. He swam back to the surface and hopped up on the rock. A new breeze blew, sending Micah into uncontrollable shivering. He bit down on his tongue, tensed all his muscles to stop it. “Your lips are b-blue,” Clay stuttered. “So are y-yours,” Micah replied. “But we can't go back now. We’re in too deep. The water’s clear, so hop on my back and we’ll go.” Clay nodded and stood up, and that’s when two hands grabbed him and pulled him underwater. Micah dove after him. Saw the hand wrapped around Clay's ankle. Drew his knife, was about to stab the person trying to drown his friend when more hands grabbed his hair, yanked him back. His head cracked against something hard, and he inhaled involuntarily. Water flooded his lungs. Micah convulsed, his body rejecting the water but not being able to get rid of it. He saw bubbles and a flash of red and heard someone scream his name—''Clay''—and shoved against his attacker. The water slowed his movement, and the arms didn't budge. His lungs were about to burst, but he had to get to Clay or he was going to drown. Spots floated in front of his eyes, and the arms holding him wouldn't loosen. Knife. I'm holding a knife. His arms were pinned to his sides. He tried to break free, but someone slammed his head into the rock, and he blacked out. Chapter 34 “Wakey wakey, shithead.” Micah jolted awake when Hester’s boot connected with the side of his head. He rolled away from her, on his side, and choked up river water. “That’s gross, Micah.” Her voice made him retch again. “Did you swallow the whole river?” He coughed. Sat up, head spinning. Blinked at the blurry landscape until his eyes cleared. He was back in the tall grass by the bank of the river, his uneven breath steaming in the air. His lungs felt like they’d soaked in acid. Hester was standing over him, hands on her hips. Another coughing fit gripped him, and Hester watched him coldly until it passed. He cleared his throat. “Where’s Clay?” Hester kicked him again, this time square in the chest. Something crunched. He slammed into the ground again, all air leaving his body with a whoosh. “I don’t know, Micah,” Hester rested one foot on his chest and started to lean on it. Micah grunted, vision suddenly fuzzy around the edges. “Wasn’t he your responsibility? Shouldn’t you know?” When he didn’t reply, she pressed harder. Sharp, stabbing pain spiderwebbed across his ribs. “Answer me! Where is your mission partner?” He couldn’t reply. “Too scared to admit you lost him? Well, lucky for you, I lied. I do ''know where he is,” She paused, glaring down at him. “He’s a corpse at the bottom of the riverbed.” ''No. ''She was lying. She had to be. “Can’t even say anything now, can you?” Hester sneered. “Makes me wonder if you ever cared, you ''bastard,” She pushed harder still. Her voice grew fainter, and his vision was all stars and muffled colours. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t control his body, couldn’t move outside his arms and legs twitching. The pressure vanished. Hester grabbed his shoulders and shook him roughly. “Say something, Jakarta!” It was too late. The black curtain of unconsciousness swept over. ---- The second time, he came to with a blistering headache. Light flickered on the floor. Micah blinked painfully, grit scratchy in his eyes. Disoriented, he tried to figure out where he was. He’d been stripped of all clothing, but the small room was sweltering. Sweat rolled down his back. He hung from his wrists, chained to some bar above his head. He tried to pull himself up, to lessen the tension on his shoulders, but he had no energy even to swing. He looked up. A fire roared in a fireplace, and Hester stood in front of it, silhouetted by the light. The flames leapt as a log shifted. Hester turned around to face him. “Ah, you're conscious,” she mused. “Where am I?” “Do you not recognise the room?” Hester gestured towards the fireplace with one hand. Micah stared at it. It was shaped like a dragon's gaping mouth. Fuck. '' “The torture room,” Micah said. “I'm in the torture room.” “Ding ding ding,” Hester singsonged. “You're sharp, I'll give you that,” She grinned. She pulled something off of her belt. “And you're ...attractive, can't forget….” She dragged her eyes down his body, and he couldn't repress a shudder. “But you're also disobedient.” “I—“ “Don't make this worse for yourself,” Hester waved her hand, and there was a cracking noise. ''A whip. ''She was holding a claw-tipped whip. ''She’s going to whip me. “I never thought it'd come to this,” Hester continued. “You were always my favourite: the most obedient, the most skilled….but now….” She shook her head. “I told you to follow instructions. The simplest instruction I could’ve given you, and you failed. What was it again? I want to hear out of your pathetic mouth.” “Protect the team,” Micah replied bitterly. “Exactly. But what did you do? To put it simply, you didn't. Clay is dead because you didn't. You hear how permanent that word is? Dead. You will never see your precious teammate again.” Her words felt like sledgehammers hitting his chest. “Protect the team….” Hester continued. “You didn't, you get punished. Normally, the punishment is death, but death is too sweet for you. You'd get to see him again in the Pit too soon. Oh no, I want you to remember what's about to happen every time you hear his name.” She raised the whip. ---- Silence. He tried to breathe, tried to keep himself in the present, because there was more to say, more to explain, and he didn’t want to have to go through all of this again. Damian rubbed up and down his back, but that made him feel trapped, restrained, so he mumbled broken apologies and wriggled away, rolling out of bed and walking over to stand by the window. He heard Damian sit up. “She gave me a hundred lashes that day. Or so she said. I have a feeling she forgot where she was a few times. When she was done with the whip, she carved her name symbol into me with a red-hot knife. And after that, after I healed, I was hers for her to do whatever with,” There were new memories bubbling to the surface, and not all of them were pleasant. He clasped his hands together. “Using me as a punching bag, reopening wounds, constantly berating me and telling me I was worthless and twisted and manic and all sorts of lovely other words, drugging me and—“ His throat seized, and it took him a minute or two to keep talking. “—and bringing me to her bed, withholding food and water to see how long it took me to snap. I was beat up, insulted, raped, starved, all for her entertainment. She wanted to break me. She didn’t realise that I’d shattered in the torture room. I think there are still some parts of me in there. “Everyone knew what was happening. But no one tried to stop it, because she could freeze them with a glare. She’d do the same to them in a heartbeat if they interfered, and they knew it. So it was just support, after she was done with me for the time being. I don’t blame them. Clay finally took Hester out after over two years. Then everything fell apart,” Those memories were starting to surface too; he vaguely remembered his hands, covered in blood, but he didn’t know whether it had been his or not. “I lived in a cave for a year or two until I found Dad, and got dragged into this mess.” More silence. “That’s it,” he said quietly. “That’s everything I remember right now.” Damian released a breath he’d likely been holding for a while. “I don’t even know what to say. Like, I’m sorry, but does sorry even cut it?” “It doesn’t change anything, but I appreciate the effort.” “Gods, I—“ Damian paused. “I just want to have been there for you back then. So I could have helped. Or just been there, or given you some comfort, or killed Hester myself.” “The universe does things for a reason.” “Well, it better have a damn good reason for doing what it did to you. Or I’m gonna kick its ass.” Micah had to laugh at that. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here now.” “Me too,” Damian murmured. He stood up. “Me too, love.” “How’d you get here so fast after my nightmare?” “Ah,” Damian sounded slightly embarrassed. “I might’ve fallen asleep outside the door.” “But I locked it.” “Yeah, and I ripped it off its hinges,” Damian nodded towards the doorway, where there was….no door. “Sorry.” “Oh,” He felt guilty too. “I’m sorry I kicked you out.” “You needed space after we came back,” Damian replied. “I was just making sure you didn’t….try anything.” He tucked his arms close to his chest. “Thank you. That was….probably a good idea.” He heard Damian’s breath catch, and a couple steps. “But I’m okay now. Okayish.” “Tell me the truth. The whole truth. Did you….” “Did I what?” “Did you try to….” Damian couldn’t finish. Micah turned around to see Damian’s throat bobbing, eyes shiny. Then he knew, with a sinking feeling in his chest, that he had to lie now, because telling Damian the whole truth would shatter him. If he knew how close he’d been the night before….He closed his eyes, saw a flash of teeth and blonde hair— Liar liar liar, you’re nothing but a fucking liar. '' “No,” he said quickly. “I didn’t.” Damian sighed, walking closer. “Good,” He wrapped his arms around Micah’s waist. “Good.” “I’m okay now. Really,” And now—for the first time in the past forty-eight hours—he really wanted to be alone. And out of the Keep. And drunk. That was what he’d do as soon as he could break away: hit up a bar and get shitfaced and pass out somewhere he wouldn’t remember when he woke up. ''Run away, just like you always do. He shoved her voice away, shaking his head. He couldn’t stay here. The Keep was full of old memories, waiting to be rediscovered. The torture room was so close…. He felt his breath catch. Fuck. ''Why had he even thought about it? ''I almost bled out in ''this room. More than once, and for multiple reasons. ''Fuck fuck fuck FUCK. ''He peeled Damian’s arms away and forced air in and out of his lungs, slowly, slowly, trying to form something coherent in his head, but words wouldn’t string together and Damian was talking again. “—don’t believe you.” Micah sucked in a breath. What had he said before? Damian’s gaze was intense on his back. Likely it was concern, but Micah couldn’t help but imagine it was anger or worse. ''Leave me alone leave me alone leavemealone. What had they been talking about? He tried to retrace the conversation, but it was slipping through his fingers. This is what you get for talking. ''Hester hissed in his ear. ''This is what you get for weakness. You are ''weak. I could crush ''you under my heel and I ''will if you don’t follow my rules. '' “Stop it stop it stop it!” Damian stopped whatever he was doing. Micah froze. “Okay, okay, I will, just please calm down.” He’d punched through the wall. He pulled his fist back, vaguely stunned at the shards of wood and plaster on his fingers. He hadn’t meant to do that. He hadn’t meant to yell either. “It’s gonna be alright, love, just calm down, take deep breaths.” Damian sounded….no, Damian Diamondback couldn’t possibly be scared. Not of him. “I—I wasn’t—I didn’t…..” Destructive, Hester purred. Gonna make you into my little destruction machine. You are ''mine, ''dearest. '' And for a second he thought he could smell her perfume, feel the brush of her breath on the back of his neck, hand on his shoulder, and everything cut to static. Chapter 35 “Don’t move.” His eyes shot open. “Seriously. Don’t move.” Delphi hovered over him, a paintbrush in one hand and a ceramic pot in the other. “What the hell?” “If you move, you’ll disrupt magic currents, and I have no idea what that’ll do. I haven’t used sigils in a long time, but I can imagine it’s probably bad.” Micah blinked a few times. Delphi was outlined against a backdrop of warm colours fading into blue. It took him a second to realise he was outside, and the sun was rising. “What happened? Where am I?” “I’ll explain in a minute. Let me finish this first,” Delphi swirled the brush in the pot. “This?” “My sigils, Micah, before the paint dries. Now shut up and close your eyes.” He did as he was told, and a moment later, Delphi was painting symbols onto his skin and chanting in— “Is that K’ana?” He opened his eyes again. Delphi didn’t answer, but she didn’t need to. His brain grabbed onto the sharp, clicking words and held on. It had been years since he’d heard anything but his own voice speaking it, and he’d whispered words over and over like a prayer, trying not to forget, trying to hang onto yet another part of his mother he was terrified to lose. He didn’t know what his official “first language” had been; he’d learned Commons and K’ana near simultaneously. Sometimes, he and his mother would blend the two together, switching from one to the other in a cycle that was dizzying to anyone who didn’t know it. When she died, he thought he was the only one alive who could still speak it. That wasn’t true, not with Xenon, but he’d never asked Xenon about it before he corrupted. He didn’t realise he’d been crying until Delphi finished her chant and gently wiped his tears away. “You can sit up now.” He pushed himself up with shaky arms, examining the symbols she’d painted in black all over his arms, legs, torso, everywhere. They looked like runes—sort of—and he could make out some of their meanings. He was sitting on a huge slab that almost looked like a table, and Delphi stood near the edge, arms folded across her chest staring at him. As usual, her expression was unreadable. He felt very exposed, only made worse by the fact that at some point, he’d been stripped down to his skin. “How are you feeling?” “Uh, meh,” he replied. “Where are we?” “The Fleetlands,” Delphi sat down across from him, folding her legs under herself. “The birthplace of rune magic. Also the best place to stabilise energy. The elements are in harmony around you. Look around. Can you feel it?” The rock sat in the middle of a ring of five trees, each a different colour and different type—different elements, if he had to guess. He closed his eyes and tried to find the undercurrent of energy Delphi claimed was there. But there was nothing except his own heartbeat and shaky breathing. “.....no?” “By the end of this week, you will,” Delphi closed her eyes. “Is that how long I’ll be here?” “I don’t know,” Delphi shrugged. “I think you’ll be here as long as you need to.” “What does that mean?” Delphi didn’t reply. “What happened? How long have I been out?” “Follow me,” Delphi stood and hopped off the rock. “Answer my goddamn question!” Delphi stopped. Micah slid to the ground, but as soon as his feet hit, his legs turned to mush and he toppled over. Delphi walked over and hauled him up. “You had a seizure. We don’t know why. You’ve been out for a week, likely why you can’t quite walk yet,” Delphi guided him towards the assumed Water tree. “I’ve kept you out for that long.” “Why?” “It was safest for your mind. And it let my healing magic fix your most recent concussion without you gallivanting around and fucking it up.” “Safest for my mind?” “You wanna know how close you were to losing it?” Delphi held her fingers a millimetre apart. Micah winced. “You have not healed from trauma well, physically or mentally. And that’s partially my fault.” They passed the water tree and continued down a path paved with smooth, dark blue stones. They were cool on Micah’s feet, which he was grateful for. “Finally admitting fault, huh?” “Yes,” Delphi’s arm tightened around his waist. “But some of it is your own. Living in that cave with those two Djinns was not a good choice.” “Hey, just because you have a vendetta against Djinns doesn’t mean I have to. Alamore and Asarin are good people.” “I don’t doubt that, given that they saved your reckless ass on numerous occasions,” Delphi replied evenly. “But isolating yourself and doing what you were doing when you were out of the cave was what I meant.” “You’re going to have to tell me, because I don’t remember.” “Really? Because those memories affect you every time—“ Delphi shook her head. “It’s not a good idea right now. Later, once you start feeling more stable and balanced.” She stopped, and Micah looked up from his feet. They’d arrived at a clear, crystalline lake, cold enough that Micah could see fog on its surface. Delphi helped him sit at the edge. “Are we meditating?” “No, you’re going to wash, because you’re sweaty and gross,” Delphi pointed to a pile of clothes. “Oh, and the sigils won’t come off, so don’t worry about them.” Micah knelt and scooped up a handful of water to splash on his face. “No, no,” Delphi pulled him back. “Get in.” ''Nope. Nope nope nope. ''“No thanks,” Micah snapped. “I’m not getting in there.” “Get in, Micah.” “I can’t swim—“ Her foot pressed between his shoulder blades, and then he was falling, over the bank, head over heels, landing with a mind-numbing splash. Water shot up his nose. He flailed, twisting, trying to find out which way was up, pushing against the water and the— ''Wait a second. He broke the surface, choking. Delphi looked down at him expectantly. “It’s only a foot deep!” He sat on the smooth stone bottom with his bent knees above the water. “Son of a bitch!” “Daughter,” Delphi corrected. “It’s cold!” “I can see that,” Delphi had the decency not to laugh at him, but she was smirking. Micah splashed water at her, and she sidestepped. “Go fuck yourself.” “Meet me at the rock when you’re done, alright?” Delphi spun on her heel and walked away without waiting for a reply. ---- He got back to the rock about ten minutes later, dressed in a loose linen shirt and pants. The shirt was without sleeves, and made him feel exposed again. Delphi’s sigils stood out sharply on his pale skin. He’d tried to scrub them off without success, despite her earlier warning. At least they were covering up other scars he didn’t want to think about. He leaned on the rock, legs still shaky. “Feeling more awake?” Delphi popped into existence behind him, making him jump. “Uh, yeah.” “Here,” she offered him a ribbon. “For your hair. You’re gonna want it out of your face.” “That’s ominous.” “Wh-''what''?” Delphi sputtered. “How is that ominous?” “Did you just stutter?” Micah pulled his hair back and twisted it into a bun. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Delphi jumped off the rock and stalked towards the Fire tree. Micah grinned at her back and followed. Instead of a pool at the end of a path, there was a ring of rocks. Delphi stopped just outside it. “You go in,” she said. “It won’t let me past, since I’m not a Fire element.” “How do you know I am?” “Just a guess. Fire elements usually have very strong emotions, and, well…..” “''Hey''—“ “My point exactly,” Delphi pointed at the fire ring. “Look, it’s burning now.” Sure enough, a reddish-purple fire crackled in the middle of the circle. Micah swallowed hard and stepped inside the ring. He’d never liked fire, even before it killed his mother and destroyed his village. Something that destructive had to be controlled at all costs— —my little destruction machine— His heart skipped a beat, and the fire in the middle leapt higher. “Good, it’s connected to you,” Delphi said. “You remember the basics on how to summon a magic circle?” “Yes.” “Try it now.” He held his hands out in front of himself and closed his eyes. Again, the energy he was supposed to be feeling was absent. “It’s not working.” “You’re not trying hard enough.” “Delphi, I can’t—“ “''Try harder.” “How am I supposed to try if I don’t know what I’m doing?” “You’ll know.” Micah growled and clenched his fists. He could feel the heat of the fire washing over his skin, could see the light flashing through his eyelids, could hear the faint hiss-hum of the flames….his fingers prickled, and Delphi murmured, “That’s it, there you go.” He didn’t dare open his eyes, worried he’d break his concentration. ''Focus. Concentrate. ''Clay tried to teach him how to meditate once. ''Breathe. Or maybe it had been Korin. Focus on your breathing. ''Yeah, it was her. ''Breathe in….''He’d wound himself up so tight he could barely function and she found him hyperventilating in the pantry, wedged between two barrels of rice. ''Breathe out….''He felt sweat roll down his face. ''Why is it so hot? He felt lightheaded. Focus….''Korin had guided him through a mental landscape, drawing his focus away from whatever he’d been panicking about and into a calmer space. ''That could work here. ''He built it in his head: forest, soft breeze, sounds of birds and leaves rustling. ''Breathe. ''His fingers tingled. ''It’s working…. Delphi said something about a summoning ritual, so he opened his eyes and pressed his hands together. The fire in the circle promptly went out. “God''dammit''!” He picked up one of the rocks in the ring and hurled it into the tree line. “Micah—“ “No,” He whirled around and jabbed a finger at Delphi. “Don’t say a word. You don’t get ''to tell me what I’ve been doing wrong, because I’ve been doing ''exactly what you told me to, and look where it’s gotten me!” “You need to calm down,” Delphi’s voice held a sliver of fear. “I don’t want to calm down!” Micah yelled. “You told me that patience and focus would work and I’d get it. But no! I’ve been working at it for two months, and it’s gotten me nowhere!” “Micah, please—“ “You know what?” He wiped his forehead with his arm. “I’m starting to think that your little magic tricks are worthless. You haven’t been helping me whatsoever. You’ve been making things worse,” He felt so dizzy, he wanted to vomit. “I can’t believe…..can’t believe I wasted two months of my life on you when I could’ve gotten that….stupid sword….all by myself.” He saw spots, and dropped to his knees. “Ugh….it's so hot….” Something burned under his skin, in his blood, in his breath. He coughed, tears streaming from his eyes, again and again until it drove him onto all fours. He looked up at Delphi, eyes blurry. “''What did you do to me?” Delphi backed away. “I didn’t do anything!” “''Liar.” “I swear! The sigils are to protect you!” “The sigils—“ He looked down to see the lines and runes she’d painted were bright red, glowing. “What the hell—“ He blinked, and saw a rune against his eyelids. Then he understood. The fire hadn’t gone out—it had gone inside ''him. And he was going to burn through Delphi’s sigils if he didn’t figure out how to release it. He hauled himself to his feet. Pushed his hands out in front of himself. Traced a circle in the air. He thought he could see red-orange trails left by his fingers. The rune flashed in his vision again and he spoke its name aloud. “''Zadir.” The heat vanished, and Micah passed out. Category:Blog posts